Snack Chat: Online Dating and My Tinder Criteria

Watch me talk about my OkCupid date with a guy named Scooter, (all while secretly doing some sort of Zooey Deschanel impression? So quirky!) Take it all in for your viewing pleasure, then like it, then read an old post I wrote about Tinder, below.

My Tinder Criteria

You people know about the dating app Tinder by now, right? Well, in case you just got out of a year long relationship yesterday and previously had no need to troll the internet for a butt you could bounce change off of or abs you could wash your delicates on, I’ll explain how it works.

It’s very simple- you sign in with Facebook, it shows a couple of your profile pics, and people can either “nope” you or “like” you. If you’re noped, it goes to the next person, if you’re liked and you like them back, it’s a match, and you can chat. Basically, you just judge people on whether you think they’re hot enough to potentially date. There’s also the option to see if you have mutual friends or Facebook interests and to write a small profile, but really it’s just about looks because the novelty of two people listing Friday Night Lights as their favorite show wears off quickly.

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I don’t plan on messaging or meeting anyone because it all sounds to me like a death trap. A free app where you don’t even post your full name and people only pick you based on your looks just sounds like a place where really kinky serial killers go to find red heads with blue eyes so they can torture them (me) for a week then put your (my) severed fingers in a deep fryer. Regardless, reducing a human being’s worth to what they look like in 5 pictures and then choosing whether to “next” them or validate them as individuals turns out to be a strangely therapeutic way to pass the time!

I’ve already developed a quick system on how I nope people. My best advice is to have some hard and fast bottom lines on Tinder or any online dating site because you don’t have time to meet every stranger you come across. Have some personal deal breakers set up before you even get started so you can breeze through those profiles. Here are mine:

Guys wearing fedoras. I like to keep to that standard both online and in life.

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Guys in front of a step-and-repeat (I’m only being shown LA guys).

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Professional headshots (I’m only being shown LA guys).

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Guys in tank tops.

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Guys wearing tank tops in their professional headshots.

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Anything featuring an instrument. 

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This guy just looks like a handful.

Guys taking their own picture in the mirror. 

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Pictures with kids in them (are they yours?!).

Except this guy. They look so adorable, and she’s probably his niece.

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Nope, definitely this guy. He’s a monster and that little girl is a decoy.

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And whatever is happening in this picture. 

pickle Predator!!! Predator!!!

What’s kind of things do you see on Tinder that makes you nope a person? A man taking a picture with two young ladies eating a phallic object Lady and the Trap style? I hope so!

Am I an Adult?

Like I said in yesterday’s post, I turned 25 this month, and it’s strange because I still feel like I’m in high school. It’s not like I’m clinging to youth or anything, in fact, I’m excited to turn 30 in the near future. I’ve found that every six months or so I become a little less of an asshole, so I’m hoping by 30 I’ll be a real hip woman in charge of her own destiny, getting her clothes tailored, not eating as much processed foods, the whole thing.

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But for now, I can’t tell- am I an adult? Let’s look at the evidence:

ADULT: I have aged out of eligibility to be on The Real World because apparently 25 is too old to catch syphilis in a hot tub while you experiment with your sexuality. What if I’m a late bloomer, huh, MTV?

NON-ADULT: Still too young to be a Real Housewife. Not a girl, not yet a woman.

ADULT: I pay rent with my own money for a townhouse with a garbage disposal, yes, garbage disposal. 

NON-ADULT: I recently cashed in an animal crackers jug full of change at a Coin Star so I would have drinking money.

ADULT: I told a co-worker how old I turned on my birthday and he said, “25! You can get married now!” Isn’t that wild? I mean, at this point, if I had a kid in a high school bathroom stall no one would give me a reality show. They might call DCF because what am I doing having a baby in a high school bathroom stall? but 25 is a completely appropriate age to get married and have a child. In the Mid-West.

NON-ADULT: No matter how old I am when I have kids, always exclaiming “this is children raising children!” is a very charming thing I plan to do.

ADULT: Another thing about kids- I’m at least mature enough to know at what time a toddler should be in bed and not at the West Hollywood Halloween Carnival among half a million people. That would be all of the times. When I went this year it was after 11pm and I was very surprised at the toddler to screaming drunk people ratio.

NON-ADULT: At 8pm on a Sunday I locked my keys in my car and waited until 1am to ask AAA to get them because I was late for karaoke. Somebody, quick! Give me a baby to raise! I might accidentally lock them in the back seat, but I promise I’ll fish them out after last call!

ADULT: I got my oil changed all by myself this week!

NON-ADULT: I didn’t get my oil changed all by myself until I was 25 year old.

Welp, I am no closer to an answer, but at least I have enough self awareness to limit the amount of times I say the phrase “quarter-life crisis.” That counts for something, right?

HeTexted.com: The Saddest Corner of the Internet

Recently, I’ve realized that Facebook is passing some major judgement on my lifestyle, as all the ads they post for me now involve cleaning supplies and services, rehab facilities, and general websites involving where and how to find a boyfriend. I knew that Mark Zuckerberg had a feminine face, but I didn’t know he was my mother– amiright, ladies? HA-CHA-CHA-CHA! (I’m working day and night on my Catskill/1980′s female comedian hybrid character, so I don’t even have TIME to date).

The other day Facebook suggested this little gem, and in the process, insulted my intelligence:

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HeTexted.com has 3 components: A blog, a forum where you can ask for boy advice and people can respond and vote whether he’s “into you” or not (democracy hard at work!), and “ask a bro.”

Besides invading Iraq looking for WMD’s, I literally can’t think of a more terrible idea than this website (guys, how smart did I just sound?). Women and girls don’t need a forum to over-analyze men together from across the globe.

I understand that sometimes you need advice from your friends. I ask for it a lot and I love to sit down with a gal pal and draw out a venn diagram or a pro’s and con’s list over some Sauv Blaahhhh to decide if we should break up with her boyfriend. However, as I get older I have begun to realize that just because they’re your friends, doesn’t mean they give sound advice. If I have trouble figuring out if my friends can be trusted with my romantic problems, how can I be assured that these faceless, internet dum-dums know what they’re talking about?

Just judging by their blog, it doesn’t seem like you should trust this website.

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First sentence out of the gate: “Let’s talk girl crushes.”

No. Don’t. I can’t stand this phrase. Just say what you actually mean– you think this woman is cool and pretty and you would like to be friends with her. You don’t have to add a “no-homo” stamp of clarification. Nobody thinks you plan to go Orange-is-the-New-Black on her lady bits. Unless you do, in which case it’s just a crush.

Already I don’t feel good about these people. Next post:

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NOPE! NOOOOPE! A bad Sex and the City reference (“Single and the City” is arguably redundant) coupled with a New Girl picture? These are a bunch of 22 year-old girls with brand new journalism degrees, sitting around Starbucks in their H&M blazers, blogging and taking selfies hashtagged #riseandgrind. I’m sure they could tell you how to highlight your eyes like Kim Kardashian (hint: it involves NARS blush in Albatross), but putting your love life in their young, stupid hands is not advisable.

And do women really need advice on guys? Deep down, don’t you already know what’s up? Like this girl:

20130822-102607.jpgThis is just depressing. Is asking the audience really necessary here? And they’re all like this. A lot of the questions seem to be from teenagers, but just as many are definitely from women who are at least in their 20′s. There are just so many things that your time would be better spent on than sitting at a computer obsessing over guys. If you find yourself obsessing, you can do what I do to get my mind off of it: listen to a podcast or meditate or drink a bottle of wine and sing through the Buffy the Vampire Slayer musical episode after your apartment’s quiet hours, aka just doing me.

10 Signs That Somebody Doesn’t Care About Your Quarter-Life Crisis

1. Are you talking to: your great grandparents?

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I guess what may be worse than not being able to find a job in your chosen field right out of college is having to get a full time job at 12 so your family can afford boots. So if wearing shoe boxes on your feet and having a 6th grade education is a symptom of The Great Depression, then not being able to afford a 3-day juice cleanse after you binge ate Dominos and beer would be called The Not So Bummer Summer?

2. Are you talking to: Lena Dunham?

Remember in her Golden Globes speech when Lena said she was thankful for having her own show because it “made her feel less alone?” I, for one, am so pleased that my viewership could make Lena feel like she had a place in this world, (just as I’m sure certified old ladies, Tina Fey and Amy Poehler, were thrilled to hear that their work got Lena through middle school) but something tells me that a 26 year-old millionaire can’t quite relate to me and my folding card table dining room set.

3. Are you talking to: someone who couldn’t afford to go to college?

In that case, they probably don’t have a ton of sympathy for someone who for a full four years after high school only had to worry about things like getting a passing grade on an essay titled “A Queer Analysis of Xena: Warrior Princess” (a real paper I wrote) while they were out there paying bills and starting a career at 18. Meanwhile, at this point in their lives they’re making bank as an electrician or whatever and you’re sitting at your folding card table writing in your blog. You chose to go to art school, now you have to live with the consequences.

4. Are you talking to: your parents?

How much are they paying for your student loans every month while their retirement slowly slips away from them just so you could go to college and have a life that was better than theirs? K.

5. Are you talking to: the Government?

LOL

6. Are you talking to: your alma mater?

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The second I graduated they started asking me for donations, so they don’t seem super concerned that I’ve lived in my apartment for four months and I still don’t own curtains.

7. Are you talking to: anyone over 30?

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Despite graduating into a Clinton-Gore utopia, they still went through the exact same transitional phase that you are going through now. Go Netflix Reality Bites and I’ll prove it. And before you ask, that’s Janeane Garofalo, not Aubrey Plaza. Then go watch The Graduate. You didn’t invent floating around in your parents’ pool depressed for the entire summer after graduation.

8. Are you talking to: anyone under 30?

They don’t think this will happen to them. In their eyes, you are just a sad old person.

9. Are you talking to: me?

Just because you moved out of your hometown doesn’t make your champagne problems more interesting or important. I care as much about my high school friends’ babies as I do about my college friends’ webseries called Post Grad Probs and Post Gradz and #PostGradLife.

10. Are you talking to… these people:

That’s a video about the work Amy Poehler does with the Worldwide Orphans Foundation where people go to third world countries and basically just hug orphans because they don’t get enough human contact to develop normally. I’m guessing those orphans don’t care about your Quarter-Life Crisis. Also: homeless people, crack babies, harlequin babies (do not Google it), single mothers on welfare, and if you wanna hit up Mia Farrow’s twitter she’s got a ton of links to bummer news stories that will make you feel like an asshole for ever complaining about your folding card table dining room set arrangement.

How to Not Hate Everything

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Sorry for this whimsical tumblr-eque picture. I promise I won’t start streaking my hair with pastel chalk and transcribing scenes from The Virgin Suicides for my zine. This little kit-cat just illustrates my constant inner monologue so effectively.

You see, today, I decided to wear my Zooey Deschanel-y dress and a little extra make-up than usual in an experiment to test the theory that if I look cheerful and put together on the outside, then I will feel less like a potential arsonist on the inside, thus setting myself up for a wonderful day as a working woman. Instead, I got lost on my way to a job I’ve been driving to for the last two weeks. All I know is that I was giggling along to my favorite podcast Throwing Shade until suddenly I looked around and realized I didn’t recognize my surroundings anymore. I should have been 15 minutes early, and instead walked in exactly on time at 8:30. Despite the stressful commute, the day is turning out to be fine (yes, I’m still at work, but don’t worry, I’m writing this while I make like Ross Gellar-I am on a break. [did that work? No? What about if I said, "that sweater is a little Jason Biggs on you?" I guess that's not so much a joke as it is just bastardizing the name of an American treasure...Sorry, it is unfair to be testing out material on you, readers. Moving on]).

Okay, back to work.

Stay in school, kids because you won’t know how to collate and staple performance inspection forms effectively without a $100,000 private university education.

Sent from my iPhone

I Haz a Job!

It has really been a long road a hoe for me to find a job since moving to LA 3 months ago-  building a life for yourself is exhausting! I know that many people in America have been out of work way longer than 3 months and have had to support an entire family on practically nothing, but in fairness to me, supporting yourself for the first time is hard too, especially with cold-pressed juice and gel nail manicures being so expensive. 

Plus, it wasn’t as if I was looking for a job in my field. I had a few interviews for some cool positions that I didn’t get, but to be honest, if I had landed something that both paid well and was Facebook brag-worthy, I would just be waiting for my parents to tell me they’re getting a divorce or that all my childhood possessions had been destroyed in a garage flood, Monica Gellar-style. It would be too suspiciously easy. 

Like when I interviewed at ABC.

I got an email on my phone with the subject line, “Social Media Manager at ABC,” and then my alert showed the first line of the message which said, “we found your resume on Indeed.com and….” AND, AND, AND?! I had this immediate rush of excitement, and I stopped what I was doing to run to the computer and read the rest:

“We found your resume on Indeed.com, and we were wondering if you would like to interview for the social media manager position at Animal Behavioral College?”

Oh, riiiiiiight, cool, cool, cool. So, not the studio, then? K. 

But you know what? I interviewed there, anyway. AND I DIDN’T GET IT. 

Another job I didn’t get was here:

photo-4This was the waiting room before my interview at a company that makes lube and other massage-y sex products that taste like watermelon. The picture is blurry because I could hear the manager walking down the hall and I panicked. He introduced himself, then took me in the conference room that was decorated with more giant canvases featuring people having sex with their clothes on, and then sat me down in a white, patent leather chair. Based on the soft core porn artwork and baskets of free lube in the break room, I can’t tell if it would have been a fun place to work or sexually hostile, but I’ll never know. 

But I finally got a temp-to-possibly-permanent receptionist job where I am mostly left alone, which is my idea of a dream job no matter what I’m doing. Yesterday there was s’more muffins from Ralph’s in the break room and I’m in very close proximity to a place that sells boba tea, so it looks like my parent’s finally have something they can brag about to their coworkers. 

Dad’s Visit to LA

I dropped my dad off at the airport this morning after a most successful long weekend with him. My mom told me to show him a good time so he’d want to get a job near LA and move the rest of the family here from NH. I think I did an okay job because he seemed pretty impressed that there were so many places to get bottomless mimosas and nobody seems to care if you walk your dog through Nordstrom. Things you just don’t see in New Hampshire.

Some fun activities I had planned included going to Ikea on a Saturday afternoon and then bringing him to my improv 101 show.

photo 1Just kidding, that was just a description of two separate layers of Hell. However, I am not kidding that that is actually how we spent his California vacation. But wait! We also spent some time putting together the Ikea furniture and then he took me grocery shopping!  Soooooo, if you’re thinking about visiting LA and need a tour guide, I’m definitely a great candidate as long as you’re cool with spending $200 on me at Trader Joe’s and then just hanging a couple pictures, and if you have time, can you help me install some curtain rods in my room?

photo-3On Monday, I took my Dad to The Grove. We went to Planet Dailies and got a bunch of appetizers because he knows that my favorite kind of meal is comprised only of hors d’oeuvres (and I believe it is customary to do only what you want when hosting a guest in your home). Over sliders and lettuce wraps, he imparted this bit of fatherly wisdom: Bombay Sapphire Gin is smoooooooth.

photo 2After, we took a look around Dylan’s Candy Bar where I relived a recurring childhood disappointment of mine. All I ever wanted as a kid was something, anything, with my name on it, but there was always a “Dana,” never a “Dara.” I would have even settled for a keychain or mint tin that said “Jake’s Sister” since I was probably called that more often than my actual name.

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Anyway, the show Extra is filmed at The Grove, and we saw Maria Menounos, Mario Lopez, Eric McCormick from Will and Grace, and most exciting, the woman playing Anna Nicole Smith in the Lifetime biopic. They filmed a bunch of stuff in different outfits, so I’m pretty sure you can watch my dad on Extra through the rest of the week because he was a natural at finding the camera.

Oh, I almost forgot, Mario Lopez has no ass at all. There’s just literally nothing there but a surplus of denim fabric.

With that, Mario’s butt brought our weekend to a close. Pops and I had a great time since we get along so well and because our requisite for a fun vacation is only that we get to eat and drink purely for sport, and that’s mostly what we did. I haven’t eaten bite for bite with a 6’1″ man since I moved away, and it was a great change of pace from my usual diet of brown rice cakes and red wine.

Baby’s First Hollywood Pool Party

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All my life, I’ve been the kind of person who clings tightly to her principles and convictions.

I am also the kind of person whose principles and convictions can be bought with blended margaritas and movie theater style nachos.

Do I consider myself a feminist? Absolutely. Will I speak up and defend myself or a fellow woman when I see a sexist injustice occurring? I believe it’s my duty. Am I so poor that I will throw all of this away so I can get my buzz on foh’ free at a Beverly Hills pool party? Within reason. But mostly yes.

The dissolution of my moral compass began when my roommate and I were invited to a pool party celebrating the birthday of Jesse from that Super Bowl GoDaddy commercial:

2349077637I’ve talked about it before, but if you’ll allow me to mount this high horse again, the commercial was sexist because it perpetuated the idea that women are supposed to be beautiful and men are supposed to be smart. Also it had a fat guy making out with a hot girl. What hope do us averages have of finding a man on our level if the media keeps telling boys and Kevin James that they are entitled to a woman who is 80% boobs and legs??

So, despite my reservations, I still wanted to go to the party because the poor kid was just in a GoDaddy commercial, not a Spike TV show. And I was promised free booze.

My friends and I arrived before Jesse got there, and after being handed a free(!!!) margarita, we were informed that they were filming a documentary on Jesse. The producer wanted a very specific shot of Jesse when he entered the party. He handed my girlfriends and me an armful Hawaiian leis and told us to go up to Jesse one-by-one and ask, “can I lei you?” Okay, so obviously this dude had no idea that this group of women included one who had read Hillary Rodham Clinton’s Living History. 

This request made me thoroughly uncomfortable, but it all happened so fast! I suddenly found myself doing an awkward Target Lady-esque shuffle, mumbled a “here you go” and threw the lei around his neck like I was doing a county fair horse shoe toss.

I felt like an idiot, but I just gave it to Jesus and prayed that if this documentary ever surfaced that my future moms Amy and Tina wouldn’t recognize me thanks to my giant mosquito sunglasses.

I drank another Jesse-rita and felt better.

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A few minutes later, the same guy asked if we would rub Jesse down with sunblock. To this I replied, “feminism!” and moon walked on my cork wedge heels back to the margarita bar. Listen, am I being a little over sensitive? Maybe. But there would never be a pool party thrown in honor of an overweight, 25 year-old woman just because she was in one popular  commercial. How about this? If any hot man reading can tell me he was once asked by a producer to rub down Nikki Blonsky with some SPF at a pool party put together by her publicist then I will just delete this post.

Anyway, as my blood blended with the Jesse-ritas, I realized what a surreal situation I had put myself in. I’m 90% sure that the house we were at is also rented out to shoot porn. I’m also 90% sure that most of the guests at the party have shot a porn in that house. Please don’t misunderstand, though, this was not a trashy party. It was an absolute who’s who of Hollywood extras. There were some big G-list stars too: the cook from 2 Broke Girls, the nerdy guy with the Jew-fro from Glee (I can say that because we have the same last name), and most exciting, Yolanda Foster’s ex-husband Mohamed.

I only ever left my spot on my beach chair to get more nachos or to go to the bathroom (if I looked a little harder I bet I would have found a cocaine dispenser next to the hand soap), but it was a real trip, and it was certainly worth going to.

Next stop, the Playboy Mansion!

Feminism!

Welcome to the Babe Cave

Right now, my roommate Jillian and I are what you would call “house poor.” We have a lovely apartment in a great neighborhood, but have spent all of our money on rent and Chipotle burrito bowls, so things are pretty sparse in the way of furniture and decor.

Everything is beige and the walls are bare. My living quarters especially look like a child’s hospice room. Like, there’s a bright quilt on the bed to brighten things up a bit and a sad little plant on the window sill, but no pictures hanging on the wall because let’s just say it’s not worth putting them up since they’ll be coming right back down when the next kid moves in.

We were starting to go crazy in here, which I guess is what happens when your apartment looks like a sterile mental institution, so we decided to sass things up a bit with a chevron accent wall:

photo-1 photo-1At least I’m really self-aware and know I’m being conceited. And at least I know that calling yourself self-aware might be a good indication that you are not. Which makes me aware that I’m not aware. A real catch-22. That’s what that word means, right?

941909_10152833208905144_1129537525_nThat’s my sewing machine in the white box in the corner. To save money, I bought a bunch of fabric so I could make some curtains and pillows, but when I sat down to do it, the thing wouldn’t work. I took her in to the sewing machine hospital, and I’m sure once I factor in the cost of the repair+fabric it would be the same price just to buy some curtains and pillows from Target. But I’m in too deep now, and I really have my heart set on smugly telling dinner party guests that I reverse Maria Von Trapped our curtains.

Teen Mom

This past holiday weekend, my roommate and I were entrusted with keeping alive something far more precious than a human baby– a wittle dogggyyyyy, awww!!!

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Teen Mom

In exchange for wine, good karma, and instagrams of me wearing a doggy baby bjorn, we agreed to walk and feed this precious creature of God, Rufio.

I was really excited to do it because since moving to California from New Hampshire, I’ve been missing my Chiweenies (chihuahua/dachshund), Henry and Wilbur:

Bone Thugs

Bone Thugs

I was getting the itch to have something around the house that’s more pathetic and adorable than me, and I had begun thinking about how fun it would be to have my own dog. Though I can barely afford food for myself, and I’m not even allowed to have dogs in my apartment, once I get an idea in my head, I can’t get it out (unless there’s a Law and Order: SVU marathon on).

So playing puppy parents to Rufio came at the perfect time.425028_10152827182745144_417404990_nDo you remember how on every 90′s kid’s show, there was an episode where for a class  the cast had to pair up and “raise” an egg or baby doll for a week, as I guess, some form of birth control instead of just passing out free condoms and saving everyone the trouble? Well, I always thought that looked so fun, and through taking care of Rufio for the weekend, I finally got to live out my Saved By The Bell dreams.

At first, it was great that Jillian and I finally had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, and Rufio is the most well behaved, loving pup-pup two lesbian adoptive parents could ask for. Seriously, what’s the point of a farmers market if you don’t have a dog or baby strapped to your chest to stroll around with?

But, I think 3 days of parenting was long enough. I remembered how hard it is to care for a living thing if your parents aren’t there doing 90% of the work. Though we suddenly had a reason to get out of bed in the morning, we had to get out of it sooooo earllllllyyy!

However, to our credit, I think Jill and I would make great parents. I think if we’re still single at 45 we should adopt a Somalian orphan together. Preferably, a 14 year-old who can pretty much take care of herself.